Illumination
by imaginus75
Summary: Olivia reflects on her relationship with Alex after "Loss".
1. Illumination

Title: Illumination

Disclaimer: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.  
Author's Note: This story was inspired by Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work" (lyrics at end of story for those not familiar with the song) and "She's Having a Baby". Thanks to Emma for the beta!  
Archiving: Only with the permission of the author.  
Spoilers: Loss

***************

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're dying. What they forget to tell you is that it also flashes before you when someone you love is dying. So while I sat in the hospital waiting room, my life began to play like a film in my mind. That is, my life after I met Alexandra Cabot.

When the ambulance came to the scene I had argued and insisted that I be allowed to ride with her to the hospital. Elliot always said I was stubborn. The EMS guy had the misfortune of finding out that fact as well when I threatened to shoot him if he didn't let me ride in the bus. I held her hand the entire ride to the emergency room, telling her she was going to be fine while the paramedic did his best to stop the bleeding. I hoped she believed me, but I doubt it since I didn't believe it myself.

When we got to the emergency room they took her away to assess the damage and then we were told she was going to surgery. Elliot did most of the communicating with the doctors and nurses while I called up the captain who, in turn, called the DEA. Eventually Cragen, Hammond, Munch and Fin showed up and joined us in the waiting game.

Cragen went to call Alex's mother and Hammond started to make calls for a protective detail while Munch and Fin took turns pacing. I felt a nudge and looked up to see Elliot holding a cup of coffee out to me. I took it and thanked him as he sat down beside me with his own cup. "She's a fighter," he tried to comfort me. "She's going to be okay."

I gave him a half nod and knew that he was trying to convince himself as well. We were both blaming ourselves for what happened. We were supposed to be protecting her. Instead, we left the bar without looking around to see if it was safe. We walked in front of her instead of beside her. We were naive enough to think that the threat on her life was gone. We should've known better.

I felt a lump grow in my throat as the thought of losing her came into my mind. Instinctively, I bit back the tears, telling myself that I couldn't cry. Not in front of the guys. They didn't know about Alex and I, and any show of emotion, like crying, would tip them off that Alex and I were more than friends. My personal life was my own. I kept my private life away from everyone, even Alex. That turned out to be my biggest mistake. One that I began to regret the moment I saw Alex laying on the ground, shoulder bleeding.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed some movement as all the guys gathered together. I looked up and realized a doctor had come out to talk to us.

"We've been able to stop the bleeding and remove the slug," she began to explain. "However, she lost a lot of blood. We've done all we can. She's in God's hands now."

"When can we see her?" I asked, surprised that my voice was working.

"In a while," she answered. "We're moving her to the ICU. A nurse will let you know when she's ready."

We all nodded, thanked the doctor and returned to our seats in the waiting room. I moved to one of the chairs in the corner. I wanted to be alone. Elliot understood and gave me my space.

As I sat there, I started to pray to a God that I hadn't talked to in years. I prayed for Alex to be okay. I bargained by promising to be more open and honest with Alex, if I only had one more chance with her. I prayed for strength to be able to cope should it be in God's plans to take her from me. The last thought was unbearable. I began to grasp at the memories I had of Alex, thinking that somehow, by doing that, I could will her to be okay.

I remembered the first time I met Alexandra Cabot. I thought she was an arrogant bitch. A mesmerizingly beautiful, arrogant bitch. It became my mission to find out if she was into women and, if she was, I was ready to knock her arrogance down a peg.

As I worked with her I began to see past the facade. I saw a determined young woman who wanted to right the wrongs of the world, while trying to step out of her Daddy's shadow. The vulnerability I saw in her eyes at times drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

The first time I kissed her was after she found out about the circumstances of my conception. It was after the Guan case and we had all gone out for drinks. I had walked her home and she started to ask me about my thoughts on the case. On the way up to her apartment, I gave her my canned response about how genetics didn't determine everything about you. When she kept insisting that genetics must play some role in human behavior, the beers I had drank slowed down my brain just enough for my mouth to blurt out, "My father was a rapist. He raped my mother. You don't see me running around raping people!"

The outburst had stopped her dead in her tracks, her key in the keyhole of her apartment door. She looked at me and I was afraid to meet her eyes. Then she touched me. She lifted my chin so that I would look at her, into her eyes. Prepared to see rejection, disgust and pity, I looked into those blue eyes and saw her compassion and understanding.

It was at that moment that I took my chance and kissed her. It was a gentle and soft kiss, lips slightly parted. I pulled away, and before she could say anything I said, "Goodnight, Alex," and walked down the hall and into the elevators without looking back. I knew she'd come back for more when she was ready.

A few month later we were all back at the same bar. After the guys left, she asked me to walk her home. She invited me into her apartment and into her bed. To say we had a good time was an understatement. The sex was nothing like I'd ever had before, and it dawned on me that it wasn't me who had been seducing her since the first day we met, but rather the other way around. I got called out to a scene later that night and thus began our dirty little secret. We always got together at her place. If I didn't get called out I'd leave after she'd fall asleep. Staying over was never an option for me. We had sex, but we didn't sleep together. I believed that waking up in the morning next to someone was a declaration of commitment. It was something I wasn't ready to do.

We carried on that way for months, and I was always grateful that Alex never asked for anything more than that. That is, until one summer day when I came back from an interview with a witness to see the voicemail light on the phone on my desk flashing. She had left a message.

"We need to talk. Meet me at the playground; the benches near the swings. Seven o'clock."

The dreaded "we need to talk" talk that's feared in every relationship. I would have dreaded it if we had a relationship, but we had never defined what we had. I had never wanted to define it. Definitions never amounted to any good for me, especially whenever it involved the word "relationship". All it ever did was cause claustrophobia.

And so, as the workday came to an end, I headed to the park near Alex's apartment for the all important "we need to talk" talk. I waited for her at the benches and watched the kids play on the swings and slide until, one by one, they disappeared home to their awaiting dinners. The sky began to take on an orange tint as the sun began its descent. I headed over to one of the swings and sat down. I began to slowly sway back and forth, remembering how, as a child, I would try to go high enough to see if I could swing over the top bar, and wondering if anyone had ever accomplished such a feat. I heard her come up to me from behind, but instead of calling me back to the bench, she had walked over to the swing next to me and sat down, facing the opposite direction. I noticed that she wasn't wearing her usual court apparel, but rather a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt. That explained why she was late.

"I almost thought you were going to stand me up," I had said, without stopping to look at her.

"I'd never stand you up," she replied quietly. "I just wanted to go home and change first."

I stopped the swinging motion and started to gently twisting from side to side, shoes digging into the sand. "So how was your day?" I asked, turning to look at her.

"The good guys won," she answered with a small smile.

"Congratulations," I said, resting my cheek on the hand that was clutching the swing chain and my temple on the chain itself.

"Thanks," she replied, mimicking my posture.

I took a deep breath and bit the proverbial bullet. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Us," she answered. "If there is an us."

"Well, there's a you and there's a me," I started, flippantly. "Collectively, we would be known as an us."

She didn't laugh. She didn't smile. I wondered if she had even heard me at all. Then she looked at me and asked, "Is this good enough for you, what we've been doing?"

"What have we been doing?" I ask in response. I could feel the invisible walls inching closer and closer around me. She wanted to define us. She wanted to put a name to what we'd been doing. I wanted to run.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied flatly. She gave a bitter laugh and said, "You know, this should be perfect for me, what with my career and goals, being each other's dirty little secret without anyone being the wiser."

"So what are you saying, Alex?" I ask her, looking far off into the distance.

She let out a sigh. "I want more. I want to go out for dinner sometime. I want to wake up in the morning with you beside me instead of an empty pillow. I want to have lazy Sunday mornings drinking coffee and reading the paper with your head on my lap. I want to go for walks in the park and eat ice cream. I want to see your apartment. I want us to have something we can acknowledge to ourselves and each other."

"You don't ask for much, do you?" I deadpanned and got a small smile in return.

"Look," I began my explanation. "I'm not a romantic. I'm not a flowers and candy kind of girl. What you see is what you get, Alex. I'm no good at relationships. I never have been, and I probably never will be. Look at my genetics for chrissakes. My father was a rapist and my mother was an alcoholic who never had a boyfriend for more than a month at a time."

"What ever happened to the 'genetics doesn't determine everything about you' theory you told me about?" Alex retorted and continued before I could answer. "I thought you actually believed what you told me, but I guess I was wrong. When are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Olivia? You are so much more than your genes. You are a compassionate and caring person who gives strength to those who are helpless. I wish you could see the person that I see."

"I think you need to get your prescription on those glasses checked," I answer with a wry smile.

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked softly, shaking her head.

"Maybe you can tell me when you figure it out," I answered. It was the only answer I could offer her at the time.

"So where does that leave us?" She asked after seeing no more answers in my eyes. She had a talent for reading me better than anyone I ever knew, including Elliot. She could look into my eyes and tell what I was thinking most of the time. I don't know how she did it. Sometimes it was annoying as hell, but other times it was convenient that we could communicate without talking, especially in front of the guys.

"Hungry," I answered. "I haven't had dinner yet and I assume neither have you."

She answered with a nod of her head.

"So why don't we go grab some dinner," I suggested and then added with a smile, "and I'll buy you some ice cream afterwards."

She smiled and agreed, letting the topic of "us" rest for the time being.

For the next few weeks Alex's question about my fears nagged at me relentlessly. I didn't realize I was scared of anything when it came to the subject of Alex Cabot. Sure I was scared when I first met her, wondering if I ever had a chance in hell of hooking up with her, but that issue was dealt with. Was I scared of falling in love with her? Was I scared of being hurt by her? I cursed her for making me think about such things. The more I thought about it as the days passed, the more I realized that my fears had nothing to do with Alex. I was afraid of myself. Specifically, I was afraid of being myself. All my life, I had used my mother and father as a crutch when it came to personal relationships. It was easier that way. It was easy to blame a hangover on my "inherited alcoholism" or sexual conquests on my "paternal genes". If I were to be my own person, I would have no one to blame for my failures. If I were to be myself in relationships, any rejection would be a rejection of me, not my genetic makeup. Of that, I was terrified.

After my self conducted psychoanalysis, I made an effort to spend more time with Alex. We had our dinners and one lazy Sunday together, but I still couldn't bring myself to stay overnight with her or bring her to my place. Rome wasn't built in a day and old habits die hard, but Alex gave me credit for trying and was patient with me. Why she stuck by me, I didn't know.

Then one day it hit me. Of the handful of people who knew about my mother's rape, all of them, at some point or another, have had this look in their eyes, when they looked at me. It was pity. Even though the look would only last a split second, I knew what it meant. They felt sorry for me. They have all given me that look. Except for Alex. She never once looked at me that way, because she never saw me as a product of rape. She saw me as me, my own person. It was with this revelation that I realized that I was loved, more than I had loved.

So I tried to open myself up to her by asking her to stay with me after our meeting with Agent Donovan. A part of me wanted to protect her and a part of me wanted to share myself with her. The threat on her life brought it home to me that I cared about her and was facing a chance of losing her. She refused, being as stubborn as always, not wanting to give in to her fear and, at the same time, not wanting to give in to what seemed like an impulsive offer coming from me. I should've known that she would've only accepted an invitation to my apartment if she felt like I wasn't being pushed to offer the invite out of fear.

Now all I have is fear. Fear that she won't make it. Fear that I'll never get to hear her voice or laughter again. Fear that I never got a chance to tell her she was right about me, that I could be so much more than who I thought I was. Fear that I'll never get to tell her how much I love her.

There was so much she wanted and needed from me and for me, and I had been too selfish to give her any of it. I hated myself for only realizing this while on the brink of losing the best thing that ever happened to me. What I wouldn't give to have one more chance to see her, to touch her, to tell her all the things I should've told her long ago.

"Liv," Elliot was saying as he gently shook my shoulder and broke me out of my reverie. "We can see her now."

The rest of the group waited for Elliot and I to go first. As she showed us the way to Alex's room, the nurse informed us that we were to keep our visits brief and no more than two people at a time. I didn't exactly want to spend these moments with Elliot in the room, but it was better than not getting to see her at all. Hammond already had federal agents keeping watch over her room. It's amazing how fast the feds can get their act together when they want to. We entered her room and she was asleep. She looked so small and pale in the bed. The tears started threatening again but I held them back. Even in front of Elliot, I couldn't let go.

We stood on each side of the bed and I didn't know what to say that would be appropriate in front of my partner. I thanked God for Elliot as he tried to give her words of encouragement. He told her that she needed to get better so that she could kick our asses for letting this happen to her. Besides, he told her, he was tired of breaking in new ADAs, so she had to come back. He turned to me and asked if I wanted a few minutes alone. I nodded to him, grateful for his ability to read my mind.

After he left, I pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. I reached out and held her hand. It was limp and felt as if all the life had drained from it.

"Come on, Alex. I know you've got a little life in you yet," I whispered as a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. "You can't leave me now. Not when there's still so much that needs to be said."

I leaned in closer to her, my thumb stroking her hand rhythmically. "I know that wherever you are right now, you can hear me. Please stay with me, Alex. I need you. I've never needed anyone before in my life until I met you. You've made me a better person. I like who I am when I'm with you. I love you, Alex, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to say it until now. I've realized now that all I've done was take, while all you did was give. You gave me everything. You gave yourself to me and I gave you nothing. Just give me one more chance to do right by you. Please, Alex."

A soft knock on the door told me that it was time to leave. I didn't want to leave her, but getting manhandled and thrown out of the hospital wouldn't have done either of us any good. Reluctantly I got up and joined Elliot out in the hall. He said he had already called Kathy and that he was going to take me to their place. He didn't want me to be alone. The offer wasn't negotiable. He promised to take me back to the hospital first thing in the morning.

We stopped at my place briefly so that I could pack a change of clothes. The ride to Elliot's house was filled with silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Kathy had made up the den for me and was still up when we got there. She tried to be encouraging about Alex as well, but my habit of always preparing for the worst prevented me from sharing in her optimism. I laid on the sofa bed in the den and watched the clock as the minutes passed by. At 4:52 a.m. I heard the distant sound of the phone ringing. My heart sank.

A few moments later I heard a gentle knock and Elliot's voice asking me if he could come in. I turned on the light and saw his face, dark and grave. His eyes glistened as he sat down beside me and quietly said, "That was Hammond. She's gone."

I started to shake my head in denial, entering the first stage of loss. I gave into the tears and the floodgates opened. Elliot wrapped his arms around me as uncontrollable sobs wracked through my body. We stayed that way until the kids were up and running about, looking for their father. Kathy tried to corral them and give us more time, but we knew our time for mourning was over. We had to put on our shields, both the gold ones and the emotional ones, and face the world. A world without my Alex.

We were called to meet with Agent Hammond. I didn't want to go. I wanted to avoid anything that had to do with Alex, which was impossible to do because everywhere I looked, something would remind me of her. Elliot drove us out to the meeting spot and we didn't know what was going on. Then we saw the blonde hair and both froze. It had to be a mirage. She was dead and I had accepted that.

"I am so sorry about all of this," she said.

"Your funeral's tomorrow," I managed to say as the feelings of loss and relief overwhelmed me.

Hammond explained that we were to play along with Alex's supposed death, and all I wanted to do was to reach out and touch her, hold her and tell her all those things I should've told her before. The weight of the situation fell on me when I realized that even though she was alive, she was not to stay with me.

"How long?" I asked, hoping against hope there was going to be a definite answer.

She shrugged her answer and tried to hold back her tears. I knew there was so much she wanted to say to me, and I to her, but with all the agents hovering close by, it was next to impossible. I did the only thing I could think of.

'I'll wait for you. As long as it takes,' my eyes told her. She nodded. Message received.

This Woman's Work

Pray God you can cope  
I stand outside this woman's work, this woman's world  
Oh it's hard on the man  
Now his part is over  
Now starts the craft of the father

I know you have a little life in you yet  
I know you have a lot of strength left  
I know you have a little life in you yet  
I know you have a lot of strength left

I should be crying but I just can't let it show  
I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking  
Of all the things I should've said that I never said  
All the things we should've done though we never did  
All the things I should've given but I didn't  
Oh darling, make it go  
Make it go away

Give me these moments back  
Give them back to me  
Give me that little kiss  
Give me your hand

I know you have a little life in you yet  
I know you have a lot of strength left  
I know you have a little life in you yet  
I know you have a lot of strength left

I should be crying but I just can't let it show  
I should be hoping but I can't stop thinking  
Of all the things we should've said that were never said  
All the things we should've done though we never did  
All the things that you needed from me  
All the things that you wanted for me  
All the things that I should've given but I didn't  
Oh darling, make it go  
Just make it go away now.


	2. Crossroads

**Title: Crossroads**

Disclaimer: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.  
Author's Note: This is a companion piece to "Illumination", but can be read as a standalone story. Thanks to Banana for the beta.  
Archiving: Only with the permission of the author.  
Spoilers: Loss

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Legend has it that Robert Johnson went down to the crossroads somewhere in Mississippi and struck a deal with the Devil. He went there to sell his soul for extraordinary musical talents. One day, I too found myself at the crossroads. Only I wasn't looking for musical talents or fame and fortune. Instead, I sold my life for a second chance.

All I remembered was a hot searing pain in my shoulder as I heard some loud sounds, which I had assumed was a car backfiring. Then my vision narrowed to the point where it was like I was looking through straws. The noises around me grew distant and I could barely make out Olivia's voice before everything grew dark. I drifted away into what turned out to be a nice peaceful slumber.

When I woke up, I found myself lying beside a narrow dirt road. I got up, looked around, and saw fields all around me. Then I noticed that I was standing at a crossroads that I did not recognize. Confusion swept over me as I searched my pockets for my cell phone. I came up empty handed.

Then, off in the distance, I saw something. As it came closer, it looked like a car. I started to wave my arms to get the driver's attention and the car seemed to slow down. The black vintage car, with its unmistakable chrome "flying lady" hood ornament, looked out of place, but I wasn't going to just let it drive by. Who knew when another vehicle would come this way?

The car rolled past me and came to a stop a few feet away. I looked for a license plate in hopes of finding a clue as to where I was, but found none. I slowly approached the vehicle on the passenger side. As I came up to it, I saw the back passenger side window roll down. I looked in and saw a elderly man, dressed in a black pinstripe suit, with pale blue eyes and gray hair in the back seat, on the driver's side.

"Good day, Miss Cabot," he said with a nod.

I froze. "How do you know who I am?" I asked, taking a step away from the car.

"I know everyone who comes to the crossroads," he said with a smile. His voice was strangely calming and I didn't feel afraid.

"The crossroads?" I repeated. Wait, I had heard of this folklore before. "So what, you're the Devil?"

"I like to think of myself as a dealmaker," he replied coolly.

"Dealmaker, huh?" I echoed. God, I had to stop doing that. "Is this like bad karma for some deals I've made as a prosecutor?"

He gave a chuckle and smiled. "Never let it be said that God doesn't have a sense of humor."

"Okay," I said, wanting some explanation of where I was and what exactly it was I was doing here. "So, is this some kind of afterlife?"

"Something like that," he began to explain. He reached over and opened the back passenger door. "Please, Miss Cabot. Won't you join me for a drive?"

"Something tells me I don' t have much of a choice," I commented as I got into the back seat.

"There's always a choice, Miss Cabot," the dealmaker said as the car began to move. "It's just that sometimes the options available to us are not what we desire."

"So what exactly am I doing here?" I asked, looking squarely into his eyes. "I mean, I thought crossroads was only for making deals with the Devil. You know, I sell you my soul and in return, you give me whatever it is I wish for."

"Well, that is one function of the crossroads," he replied. "The crossroads is also for those whose time has not yet come."

"So, I'm not supposed to die?"

"Not yet. Not unless you choose to."

"Why would anyone choose to die before their time?"

"When they feel as if death is a better choice, some have chosen to leave their lives to end their suffering. Others have traded their lives to save a loved one," the dealmaker explained as the car slowed down. "There have been a few who, upon seeing their lives played out for them, have realized that they had lived a full life and are ready to leave it."

I looked out the front window of the car and saw a huge screen in front of us. I didn't seem to recall the car making any turns in our short journey, yet here we were at an old deserted drive inn. Stranger still was the fact that it seemed like mid-afternoon when I got into the vehicle, and now it was dusk. This had to be a dream.

"Let me guess. Here comes the ol' 'life flashing before my eyes' scenario, huh?" I said more than asked.

"Enjoy," he said simply and turned his head towards the front of the car. I followed his gaze and sure enough, the movie of my life began.

The first scene was of my mother in a hospital room, sweating, hair sticking to her forehead, and crying. In her arms, she held a baby girl. My father was standing beside her with a big grin on his face. I almost didn't recognize him. The only time I had seen that smile was in their wedding picture.

Next, it was my fifth birthday. It was a costume party and there were kids everywhere, dressed up as ballerinas, firefighters, and superheroes. I was standing in the kitchen with the phone to my ear, listening to my father wishing me a "happy birthday" and telling me how sorry he was he couldn't come home for my party. He was out of town on a business trip, taking care of some merger for a client, but promised to bring home a big present for me. I had returned to my party smiling, but the smile no longer reached my eyes.

More birthdays passed with birthday wishes over the phone from my father. I was ten when my parents told me they were getting a divorce. They kept trying to tell me that it wasn't my fault. I still blamed myself. I had thought that by asking him to come home for my birthday all those years, I had annoyed him to the point of leaving us. Eventually, I understood that my mother left my father because his family came second to his law firm. As much as I hated him for missing out on my childhood, I admired him. Whenever he took me anywhere, people knew him, liked him, and respected him. I was proud to have him as my father. I wanted to be a lawyer just like him, but I always promised myself that unlike him, I'd put my loved ones first.

Fast forward to my college days. My adoration for my father turned to resentment. Whenever people learned my name, their thoughts would immediately turn to my father. "Alexandra Cabot? Any relation to Donovan Cabot?" "Cabot...as in Donovan Cabot, of Cabot & Associates?" "How'd you get in? Did Daddy Donovan donate a new lecture hall to the school?" By the time I was in Law School, I went by Sasha, a nickname from my childhood. Everyone knew that Donovan Cabot had a daughter named Alexandra. I got used to introducing myself simply as Sasha. Sometimes I'd even use my mother's maiden name, just to keep the enquiring minds at bay.

When my parents were still together, my mother was active in the social circles, but she never bought into the superficiality of it all. She didn't like to be part of a society that only accepted people for their lineage, their money, or their status. My mother didn't want me to grow up to be some clueless socialite who took money for granted, so, every other weekend, we would volunteer at a soup kitchen. Often times my mother would sit and talk to the regulars; she even made a few friends. She had an ability to see the goodness in people and bring it out in them. When I told had her I wanted to be a lawyer, disappointment was etched all over her face. She was afraid I'd become my father's daughter. I promised her that I wouldn't lose sight of the values and principles that she taught me as a child, that I was more than my name. I was more than my pedigree. I was my own person.

My father and his friends had naturally assumed I'd follow in his footsteps and turn his firm into "Cabot & Cabot & Associates". When they found out I was studying Criminal Law, they didn't hesitate to question my choice or try to persuade me to transfer to Corporate Law. Even after I joined the DA's office, I was still "Alexandra Cabot, Donovan Cabot's daughter". As annoying as my father and his friends were, I quickly realized that in a world of "it's who you know", I was armed to the teeth with influence for my journey towards a judgeship in the New York Court of Appeals. However, I also wanted to make my mark in the judicial system, and make a name for myself on my own. I was ready and willing to do whatever it took to be recognized for my own work, so when I got the call with an offer to be an ADA for the sex crime's unit, a position that no one else wanted, I jumped in with both feet. I dedicated myself to my work, putting in long hours at the office and bringing work home with me. My work became my life. I became my father.

I convinced myself that I hadn't broken my promise to myself because I didn't have a family to put first, aside from my mother and father. In my state of denial, I hadn't realized that I had put myself second to my career. I didn't see much of my close friends and I didn't date. I told myself that I didn't have time for relationships, and so I didn't allow myself to become attracted to anyone. But, for every rule, there is always an exception. My exception was Detective Olivia Benson.

My first impression of Olivia Benson was that she smelled incredible. Her perfume wasn't new to me. I was familiar with the distinct scent of Calvin Klein's Obsession, but never really cared much for it. That was until the day the scent was accompanied by a pair of piercing brown eyes. Ever since that day, I could pick up the hint of the sweet fragrance from a mile away and my first thoughts would always stray to the mysterious detective. Sometimes I swore she stood a little closer than necessary just to taunt me, and, every time, I'd inhale slowly and deeply, savoring every moment.

I was surprised at how I began to crave her attention. I would find work related excuses to go to the stationhouse when a simple phone call to her partner would've sufficed. I had never felt this way about another woman before. Then again, I had never met anyone like this woman. I knew nothing about her, except for what I saw on the job. To say she was dedicated to her job would be an understatement. She lived and breathed it. She could work thirty some odd hours straight, be ready to go home to catch a good night's sleep, and then put those plans aside when she'd get a phone call about another victim and put in another thirty some odd hours. Knowing how hard she worked to catch the suspects made me work that much harder to put them away. All I knew was that I couldn't let her down.

Against the rules of my self-imposed solitude, I allowed myself to be caught up in the mystery that was Olivia Benson. I convinced myself that it was a harmless crush. No relationship could evolve between two straight women. Then I began to wonder if she was straight. There was always talk about guys she had dated, but there was something in her eyes whenever she looked at me, looks that would always hold a split second longer than when she looked at others. So, I began to play along. I'd hold her gazes instead of look away; I'd wear shorter skirts and higher heels and lean or perch on a desk, making sure my legs would be in her full view. On more than one occasion, unbeknownst to her, I caught her sneaking glimpses. I wondered how long it would take before she'd make a move.

I continued to watch the screen as the movie of my life shifted to a little over a year after my first meeting with Detective Benson. During the climax of a heated discussion, she had offered me a glimpse into her private life, divulging a painful secret I knew she hid deeply. She was afraid of what I would think of her. She should've given me more credit. I silently told her that I was attracted to the person she was. She physically told me how she felt with a single kiss. Afterwards, we never talked about that night, but whenever we'd look at each other, she'd be looking to see if I felt sorry for her and I'd be looking to see when she'd be ready for me to make my move.

Four months later, I was suspended for my actions during the Cavanaugh case. Elliot and Olivia had every right to hate me for putting their jobs at risk, but instead, they invited me out for drinks to celebrate my induction into their secret "whatever it takes to get the perp" club. It was through this invitation that I finally felt accepted by the squad. It was that night that I decided to make my move and I took a walk on the wild side. I jokingly asked for some police protection for my walk home. She granted my wish without hesitation. In silence, we walked to my apartment, and in silence, we fell into bed. I was definitely not her first as her hands and mouth took me places I had only dreamed of since the day I met her. She got called out later that night, which served as a relief from an awkward postcoital departure or morning after.

Neither of us were ready to admit to any kind of relationship, but we were still drawn to each other. We'd seek each other out after rough days and tough cases for consolation, and after successfully closing cases for celebration. We'd always wind up at my place, and I'd always wake up alone. I didn't mind. It was a convenient arrangement for both of us. We got what we needed from each other without having to answer to the other person. I was still able to put my career first without feeling guilty. We carried on this way for months.

Then came the call I never expected. My father was killed in a car accident. I went to his funeral, which was attended, by hundreds of his family, friends, and associates. Although we weren't close during my adult life, the sense of loss was great, but what made it worse was that it was only at his funeral that I learned about the person my father was. All my life, all I ever knew about him was that he was a man who worked hard to provide for his family. After my parents' divorce, I only saw him as Donovan Cabot, the lawyer. I never got the chance to get to know the man behind the name. It was through the eulogy given by my uncle, his older brother, that I learned that he loved fried foods, dark beer, the Ventures, and walking in the rain; that in college, he tried marijuana for the first and last time because it made him nauseous; how proud he was of me, even though he never told me. I cried for the first time in years. I cried for my father. I cried for the man I never knew but wished I had known.

After I returned from the funeral, I realized how I had walked down the same path as my father. What good was a stellar career when there was no one to share it with? What was the point of making your mark and having everyone know your name, but not know a single thing about you? It dawned on me that it was time I shared myself with a certain New York City detective, not just physically, but intellectually and emotionally. I just hoped that she was ready to reciprocate.

And so, I asked her to meet me for a talk. I wanted to know where I stood in her life. I wanted to let her know that I was ready to give her what she needed from me, whatever she wanted from me. I needed her and wanted more for us. I told her I wanted a relationship. She tried to hide behind jokes. She didn't realize how much she meant to me. She didn't understand that I loved her for who she was and that I didn't care about her genetic makeup. She was afraid of letting go. Although she didn't know it, or couldn't admit it, she was afraid of being herself because she thought I couldn't love someone like her. I couldn't tell her this. It was something she had to come to terms with on her own. So I gave her time and space to figure things out for herself and let her come to me when she was ready.

Fast forward a few months later when I finally acquiesced to Trevor Langan's invitation to dinner. I had made it clear that I wasn't interested in dating him, but that I didn't mind going out to a nice restaurant for a nice meal after a horribly long day. Then the dynamic duo showed up, and although she tried to hide it, I could see the hint of jealousy and confusion in her eyes. She thought that I had given up on her and moved on. However, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. Later that night, Trevor saw me to my building door and I told him goodbye. As I turned to go inside, I heard her voice from behind me.

"What, scum-boy doesn't get to come upstairs?" she asked half jokingly but not without a trace of jealousy, as she came up to me.

"Be nice," I scolded her and then added with a smile. "And, no, scum-boy doesn't get to come upstairs."

She arched an eyebrow.

"It wasn't a date," I answered her unvoiced question. "I just felt like going out for a nice dinner."

"I got the point," she said quietly as she came closer and stood inches away from me. "That's why I made reservations for us at Aureole."

She leaned in and kissed my neck. "Friday night."

Another kiss. "A table out in the garden."

"I think I like you when you're jealous," I finally managed to say. "And just so you know, only a certain NYPD detective gets to come upstairs." And with that, I led her up to my apartment. She had finally let go of her past and opened herself up to me. I knew she was scared, so I didn't push. I let her set the pace. We went out for dinners and she even came over one Sunday morning bearing gifts - breakfast and the Sunday paper. I took what she was willing to give me. I didn't ask her to stay overnight, nor did I ever ask to go to her place. I had no right to demand it from her. She would let me into her life when she was ready. I was just happy to have her in my life.

When she offered her place to me after our meeting with Agent Donovan, a part of me wanted so badly to accept. However, I refused for a couple of reasons. First of all, I was too stubborn to be bullied by some dime store hood who thought he could threaten his way through life. Secondly, I didn't want my first time over at Olivia's place to be borne out of fear. Knowing Olivia, I knew she was fiercely protective of those she cared about, and I knew she wanted to protect me. I wanted an invitation to her place to be done out of want and desire to be with me, not out of fear.

The sound of the gunshots startled me as I saw myself lying on the sidewalk. Olivia rushed over to me and started to apply pressure to the gunshot wound. I saw the terror in her face. She was losing me and she knew it. She was terrified and so was I. The paramedics arrived and she forcibly convinced them to let her ride with me. She told me that everything would be okay, but I could tell she didn't believe her own words. I wanted to tell her that I would be okay. I wanted to tell her to not cry because I wasn't going to leave her. I wanted so much to tell her I loved her and how sorry I was for not telling her sooner.

The movie screen went dark and silent. I had forgotten that I wasn't alone until I heard a soft cough from my companion. I turned to him and swallowed the lump in my throat. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

"I don't want to die," I said to him as tears rolled down my cheeks. "There's still so much I have to say to her. I'm not ready to die."

"Very well," he said softly. "However, you are at a crossroads where choices have to be made."

"I've made my choice," I replied, fully aware and ready to give him my soul for a second chance. "I choose to live."

"Life over death," he confirmed with a small smile as I suddenly found myself sleepy and unable to keep my eyes open.

The deal was made. I had been to the crossroads and made my deal with the Devil. I chose life over death and so I was given a new life in exchange for the death of my old one.

I demanded to see them one last time. I couldn't let her think that I was dead. I had made my choice to come back so I could tell her the things I should've told her long ago. They were in shock at first, but then quickly understood the situation. It pained me to see her tears, but I had to see her one last time. I had to see the beautiful brown eyes that I had fallen in love with so long ago, and those eyes told me that she would wait for me. Those eyes gave me hope, and I felt reassured that I had made the right choice.


End file.
